


Head over heart

by Sarahbob



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahbob/pseuds/Sarahbob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre wakes to the sound of a toilet flushing. It's the morning of an important protest and Enjolras has a migraine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head over heart

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be a two-shot. It's mainly about the friendship between Enjolras and Combeferre. The other Amis will feature in the next chapter. This story is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Combeferre wakes to the sound of a toilet flushing followed by a crash and things falling over. He blinks his eyes open and looks at the clock on his nightstand. It’s only five o’clock in the morning. Since it’s a Saturday, that means he could sleep for at least another three hours until he and Enjolras had to go to Place de la République for today’s protest. Another three blessed hours that he could really use in this chaotic week of plan making, organizing, double-checking and budget guarding.

A soft groan from the bathroom next to his door brings Combeferre to full awareness and he pushes himself up from his bed. Maybe Enjolras hit his head again, moving through the apartment in the dark. It wouldn’t be the first time. Combeferre recalled a moment only a year back when his roommate forgot they had moved a cabinet and got stuck with a broken toe after hitting the object full force at night.

Combeferre can’t help but smile at the memory. Back then, he’d been frustrated with his friend’s carelessness, but now it only reminds him of how human Enjolras is. And sometimes, in the midst of his otherworldly desire to change society and his passionate speeches, it’s nice to be reminded that his friend is just like the rest of them: grumpy in the morning, clumsy in the dark and pouting when sick.

As he makes his way to the bathroom, he notices that Enjolras’ bedroom door is still open. That means that his friend clearly hasn’t returned to his bed after the crash and it sparks a pang of worry in t he pit of Combeferre’s stomach. He knows it’s probably nothing, but when it comes to his oldest friend, Combeferre is never _not_ worried. People think Bossuet is the unlucky one in their group of friends, but when it comes to injuries or illnesses Enjolras surely takes the prize. However, Combeferre can’t deny that it’s mostly due to his friend’s own stubbornness.

He walks towards the bathroom and switches the light on. A small gasp brings his attention to the far corner of the room. There, between the toilet and the sink, is Enjolras. Hunched over, eyes squeezed shut and injection needle in a trembling hand. Combeferre feels his heart sink. He knows what this is. One of the advantages of being someone’s best friend for so long is knowing them in and out. Knowing their weaknesses, their strengths and their fears. Knowing what faces they make when in pain. And this… Combeferre knows this all too well. A migraine. And it’s a heavy one by the looks of it. Enjoras is prone to them and he suffers an attack every three months or so. It’s the thing Combeferre hates most, because he has to watch his friend in cry in pain and there’s not much he can do about it.

He remembers waking up by a toilet flushing and if the smell in the air is anything to go by, Enjolras has thrown up already, indicating that the migraine is severe and his friend needs all the help he can get right now. Combeferre immediately switches the light off again and crosses the distance between him and Enjolras. He crouches down in front of him and places his hand at the nape of Enjolras’ neck.

Enjolras trembles under his touch and Combeferre knows the pain must be bad. His friend hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he acknowledges Combeferre by leaning forward just a little bit, until their foreheads are nearly touching. Combeferre can hear his breath hitch and he gently squeezes the hand that lies at Enjolras’ neck.

“Migraine?” Combeferre asks quietly, keeping is voice low and soft. He reaches out and takes the injection from Enjolras’ trembling hand.

Enjolras doesn’t answer, but he nods his head very slowly.

“Did you throw up?” Combeferre asks next. He is pretty sure his friend did, but he needs to know for sure.

Again, all Enjolras does is nod.

Combeferre gently brushes the curls from Enjolras’ sweaty forehead and lifts his chin with a finger. “Can you open your eyes for me?” It’s dark in the bathroom, but it’s a full moon and there’s a vague light shining from the window. It should be enough for Combeferre to check Enjolras’ pupils.

Enjolras lets out a soft whimper, but does as he’s told. He squints at Combeferre, vision blurred. It hurts to focus on his friend and when he tries, his stomach turns. His eyes close again and he puts a protecting arm across his abdomen. “It’s bad,” he murmurs quietly. His voice is so low that he wonders if Combeferre even heard.

But Combeferre hears and his heart aches for his friend. He stays silent for a moment, rubbing his hand across Enjolras arm. His other hand, the one at Enjolras’ neck, gently massages the skin. Combeferre knows Enjolras needs the sumatriptan injection. It’s a special medication that treats the symptoms of migraine headaches. By narrowing the blood vessels in the brain, it stops pain signals from being sent to the brain. Still, Combeferre doesn’t like to use the medicine. It has many side effects and it usually leaves Enjolras exhausted and nauseous. Besides, it never takes the pain away completely.

“How’s your vision?” Combeferre asks after a short while. He makes sure to keep his voice as soft and low as possible, knowing his friend is very sensitive to sound at the moment. “Is it blurry? Are there any black spots?”

Enjolras moans. He doesn’t like to speak when he’s like this, especially not when he’s already nauseous. He just wants to lie in bed and sleep. But he knows Combeferre has his reasons for asking the questions. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d had a bad reaction to the Sumatriptan and Enjolras knows Combeferre would like to avoid a repetition if possible.

“It’s…” Enjolras begins, taking a deep breath. “It’s p-partly blurry, some light flashes… n-no black spots.” He has difficulty to form the words and they feel like cotton on his tongue. Enjolras has no idea if Combeferre understood a word of what he said, but he doesn’t have the energy to repeat himself. Another soft moan escapes his lips and he curls a little further into himself.

“Alright,” Combeferre answers, squeezing Enjolras’ neck a final time. “Alright, you’ll be okay. Let’s get this medicine in you and then time for bed, I think.” He takes the injection from the counter and places the top against Enjolras’ forearm. His friend hisses when Combeferre pushes the button to release the medication. It takes only a couple of seconds. When Combeferre removes the injection pen, the skin of Enjolras’ arm has already turned red and the medical student knows it stings. It always does. But he also knows that the medicine works quickly and he has to move Enjolras now if he still wants his friend to cooperate.  

Carefully, he hauls his friend up to a standing position. He keeps a firm hold on Enjolras’ waist when the younger man sways on his feet. They stay like that for a moment. Combeferre wants Enjolras to get used to being upright again before moving towards his bedroom. He knows his friend is dizzy; can tell by the way his friend keeps his eyes closed and has an iron grip on Combeferre’s arm.

“You good to move?” Combeferre asks then. He drapes Enjolras’ arm over his shoulders so that his friend can lean on him. When Enjolras nods, he takes a first tentative step. It’s clear that Combeferre will have to take most of his friend’s weight. Enjolras can barely stand on his feet, his knees buckle and his legs don’t seem to cooperate.

It takes them a good few minutes, but Combeferre manages to get Enjolras back to his room and tucked away in bed. He places the duvet over his friend and gently brushes a wayward curl from his face. Enjolras’ eyes are already drooping. The medicine makes him drowsy and though Combeferre knows Enjolras doesn’t like that, right now he can’t help but think it’s a good thing. His friend needs his sleep. This isn’t the first migraine he’s encountered, but it’s definitely one of the worst. If Combeferre weren’t a doctor, he’d have considered taking his friend to a hospital, just in case.

Enjolras curls on his side. His hand sneaks out from under the blanket and finds that of Combeferre. When he has a good hold, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes weakly. “Thanks ‘Ferre,” he whispers. His hold on Combeferre’s hand doesn’t loosen and Combeferre knows that Enjolras doesn’t want him to leave yet. His friend usually gets like this when he’s ill or injured. Despite the stoic, independent face he puts on for the outside world, when he’s with friends, he isn’t afraid to show his emotions.

“You’re welcome, Enjolras,” Combeferre says quietly. “Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on you.”  
  
Enjolras nods slowly. He’s almost asleep, but then his eyes snap open and he’s seeking out his friend. “The protest,” he stammers softly, wincing at the pain in his head. “’Ferre the protest is today. I c-can’t… I-I can’t go to sleep.” He tries to push himself up, but doesn’t get far when his friend places a gentle, but firm hand on his chest.

Combeferre gives Enjolras an apologetic look. He knows how much this protest means to his friend. Knows the work he has put into it. He was right there when Enjolras prepared his speeches, when he talked to the police in order to organize a peaceful demonstration, when he lived on coffee and crackers for weeks. Part of him thinks that last bit, combined with the lack of sleep Enjolras got, is responsible for his friend’s condition right now.

“There’s not going to be a protest for you, E…” Combeferre says softly. “You know how this works. You won’t be back on your feet for at least a day or two and you’re in no condition to go outside. I’m sorry.”

Enjolras shakes his head, wincing once more at the pain it causes. “No, ‘Ferre, I have to go. It’s my protest; I’ve w-worked for weeks. I have t-to go.” His voice is barely more than a whisper and the words are jumbled and uncoordinated.

Combeferre sighs. “You can’t,” he says, finality in his voice. “You can’t go, Enjolras and you know that. You couldn’t give a speech even if you wanted to. You can barely walk. There’s no discussion here, I’m sorry.”

Enjolras looks like he’s going to contradict again, but thinks better of it when he sees Combeferre’s stern look. Still though, his face falls and he feels even more miserable. He knows his friend is right. Even if he slept from now till the moment he’s supposed to give his speech, there is no way he’s going to be up for it. Enjolras knows how these things work. He’ll be out of it for at least a day, probably two. The medicine may work for a couple of hours, but the headaches will return afterwards. They always do. Enjolras can’t afford to take the risk. He can’t afford to end up in a hospital. It happened once and he doesn’t want it to happen again. He can’t do that to his friends.

Combeferre brings Enjolras’ hand up to his mouth and kisses the knuckles. “Courf knows the ins and outs of your whole speech. He’s your back up for exactly this reason and he’s got this, you know he does. He’ll be great. We’ve got this entire day planned out; we’ve organized it perfectly. Our friend’s will be fine.“

Enjolras frowns. “You’re not going?" 

Combeferre shakes his head. “I don’t’ feel comfortable leaving you alone like this. Not after what happened last time. Joly knows my tasks and he’s perfectly capable of taking my place. But I’ll make sure we’ll get regular updates, Enjolras. And if you feel up to it later on, we’ll search the news and see if we can find a live stream or something. For now, I need you to rest. Sleep, please.”

Enjolras wishes he had the strength to refuse, but he feels miserable and he’s in pain. He knows there is not much he can do about it. These headaches take over your entire being. He can’t think, he can barely talk and it hurts to move. There is really nothing more he can do than obey and go to sleep. At least then, he’ll be relieved of the pain. His friends will understand. Even though Enjolras feels guilty for not being there; feels horrible for missing the protest he’s been working on for months; he knows he doesn’t have much choice. Combeferre is right. He can’t go.

“But w-what if s-something… goes w-wrong?” Enjolras tries a final time. He can feel sleep right around the corner. The medicine is trying to pull him under and Enjolras doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.

“We’ve planned this protest carefully,” Combeferre says. “We’ve got permission from the government, from the police. It’ll be a peaceful protest, don’t you worry. Just sleep now, E, stop fighting it.”

And Enjolras does. His eyes fall closed and he’s out within seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked it. Please let me know if you did!


End file.
